


Reporting

by Basingstoke



Category: Spider-Man (Ultimateverse)
Genre: Character of Color, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Livia for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Reporting

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Livia for the beta.

The doors seemed even bigger this time, the ceilings polished and white and high as the sky, but the system recognized him and let him in.

Inside he felt conspicuous for a minute--a kid with a backpack with a spider costume in it inside the biggest spy organization in the world, come on--but then he saw a bunch of X-Men in the corner and walked over.

"Hey."

"Hey, kid," Logan said. He was all singed up and smelled like burnt hair and bacon. Funny that that was comforting, but it was.

"What's up?"

"Xavier got cloned."

"So it's a thing, huh?"

"Yeah," Logan said, rubbing his eyes. "You smell like panic, kiddo."

"I gotta see Nick Fury. And I'm not a kid," Peter protested by rote. He coughed to clear his throat because he didn't have any spit to swallow.

"Lift your chin and grab your balls." Logan pounded him on the shoulder--or tried, anyway; Peter's spider-sense screamed at him and he ducked automatically. Logan caught him with a hair-tousle on the rebound, but by then, Peter felt like his bones were going to jump out of his insides and onto the floor with a clattery rattle and an organy squish.

"Uh. I'll see you around," Peter said.

He headed toward Fury's office.

Punisher surveillance footage was up on the big screens in the center of the room and Peter rubbed the scar on his belly. He'd been around. He'd seen a lot. He'd been in a lot of scrapes. He didn't know what came next, but it was time to find out. He took a big breath and walked through the door.

Fury's assistant looked him up and down. "Peter Parker is here," she said into her headset. After a second, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the inside door. Peter took another breath--jeez, oxygen, a good thing, really--and opened it.

"I'm so busy I had to pay someone to think up a new word for how busy I am," Nick Fury said.

Peter gripped his backpack strap. "It's my birthday. I mean--you know that. But I figured I should come in so you don't have to knock down the door at my aunt's house or anything."

Fury stood there, backlit by the windows, and looked at him. Peter shifted. "You said," Peter said, "when I'm eighteen... my ass is yours."

"It was mine at 12:01 this morning. If I wanted you here, you'd be here."

His stomach turned over. He hunted for Fury's eye, looking for some clue in his expression, some kind of hint as to his future, but there was just nothing, and--"God dammit," Peter breathed, "I have been SO scared," he said, "for so LONG," he said, and he took a step forward and threw a punch and Fury caught his hand before he connected and twisted it up painfully behind his back.

Fury grabbed his chin. His hand was like iron; he pinned Peter in his arms. Peter fumed silently, too pissed to be scared any more, sick of being jerked around like a spider-costumed puppet on a string. "What do you WANT from me?" Peter shouted.

"Right now, you can get me a cup of coffee," he said, but he kept Peter pinned, even when Peter tried to nail him with his elbow. Fine, Peter was trapped, but this was just--"What," Fury said, "did you WANT me to steal you out of your bed and make you my henchman slave?"

"No! Asshole!" Peter twisted his head, but Fury had him by the jawbone and was staring at him--staring down, because he still hadn't had much of a growth spurt--and he'd just--he'd just HAD it. "Yes!"

Fury raised an eyebrow and the fight just fell out of Peter's body like water. He could feel it go. Bye. "I can't afford college," Peter said, and there it was. "My aunt is sick, and," his eyes were getting watery, "you know, you're not dumb, and I thought you would send me," Peter said, "to Henchman U, and I can maybe be something other than a busboy."

Fury let Peter's hand go. His backpack slid down to the floor and Peter bent to pick it back up. "A degree in gooning," Peter muttered, "with independent study in shoving people around and a masters in blackmail--"

"Shut up," Fury said, cutting him off. "You saved Tony Stark's LIFE, dumb-butt. I have it on DVD. He's got enough on the back of his toilet seat to pay the mortage on your aunt's house and five years of Harvard to boot."

Okay, and he'd actually considered that, but... "That's," Peter gestured. "Cheating."

Fury pressed his thumbs to his temples.

"Extortion," Peter said.

Fury shook his head. He took Peter's shoulder, embraced him in a way that didn't feel that friendly. His grip, his hands, his eye. Maybe human, maybe a mutant. He pointed. "That's New York City. Specifically, Manhattan. Look at it."

Peter nodded. He'd seen it a million times, but it was still beautiful. His city. His home.

And Fury stood behind him, hand like steel, iron, marble around his biceps, and opened Peter's pants. Peter gasped, but he wasn't going anywhere, and Fury took his dick, and Peter responded, because DICK.

Dick. Hand. Dick.

"Look. Keep looking. It is not an unrelentingly grim place, kid."

And really, what the hell? But he spread his fingers against the window and looked. The water, the Chrysler building, Stark Tower, dick...

"This is what you call conditioning," Fury said, his hand moving steadily. "Associating an experience with pleasure."

Peter nodded.

"We learn about this shit in spy school."

Fury's hand clenched on his arm. But the other hand--delicately--dick. Peter nodded.

"I'm not sending you to spy school. You're ter-rib-le at it." His hand moved a little faster.

Pater bit his lip. His breath fogged up the window.

"I got other plans for you."

Peter nodded.

"Now I want you..."

Peter nodded, biting his lip harder.

"To come all over New York City."

Peter jerked in Fury's embrace and obeyed.

Okay.

Well, okay.

Fury let go and Peter rested his forehead against the glass for a second. "You see?" Fury asked.

"...Kinda," Peter said. He felt fuzzy. His head didn't really feel his any more.

"I want you to go to school and be brilliant. Got it?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Now go talk to Tony Stark, or I'll send you to my troops for target practice."

Peter looked down and zipped up his jeans. "Yes, sir."

"He's on the third level."

"Yes, sir."

And he left. Walked out like it was nothing, like super spymasters did obscene things to him against 15th-story windows every day, like he was a free man, which... he kind of was, huh?

Oh crap, Daredevil. Peter zig-zagged around the desks and stuff to avoid his super ninja senses, but he looked up anyway, looked at Peter and sniffed and frowned. Peter ducked behind a column aaaand Logan was already there.

Logan leaned in and sniffed Peter's hair. "Do I kill him?"

"No!" Peter looked around. "No way."

"Want a quickie in the bathroom?"

"Yes." Peter clapped his hand over his mouth. "No! I've got a girlfriend," he said through his fingers.

"So what was that? I'm jealous. I thought I was your man-crush." Logan dogged him as he tried to find the elevator in all the people.

"There was no man-crush! That was never a man-crush! Who told you about that?"

"Your girlfriend."

"Oh my god, I am having the weirdest day of my life and that includes the time I fought the guy with the things. In your head," Peter said, gesturing to his head with the confusion and still with the floating, kind of.

Logan pinched his ass. Peter found the big glass elevator and stepped inside and watched the city fall down around him, glittering metal and glass and lights and neon and oy, Fury had a point or something, because he had to smile. And then pop wood. And he was going to have to get a good jock strap or something.

He finger-combed his hair and went to hit up a billionaire for his pocket change.

End.


End file.
